June 28, 2015
Today I realized that my daughter could read.
Esmé can read. I keep repeating it in my head over and over, trying to let the reality of this discovery settle in.
Earlier in the day I tried to challenge her knowledge, presenting more difficult words, trying to trick her. She had gotten every word I’d shown her — she’d looked bored with dog and cat and Esmé, so we had moved on reaching a seven-letter word. The only one that gave her pause was Maman, written in the French manner (as I refer to myself) rather than Mama as it is in her book “I Love You, Stinky Face.”